NEW YORK—Stressing that the league will take a hard-line stance when enforcing its policy for on-field conduct, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell announced plans Thursday to curb any prolonged or excessive touchdown celebrations by removing the areas of players’ brains responsible for emotions.

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NY—Spurning his deepest and most ardent desires, local man Mark Werner reportedly betrayed his heart Thursday by telling a friend he was dining with that he could have the last dumpling.

WASHINGTON—Expressing confidence that the nation would meet the ambitious benchmarks by the end of Donald Trump’s presidential term, Scott Pruitt, the president-elect’s nominee for chief of the Environmental Protection Agency, said Thursday he would seek a 30 percent cut in all carbon-based organisms upon assuming office.

LAKE ZURICH, IL—In an effort to provide customers with a more practical product that better suits their typical usage, office supplies manufacturer Mead released a new realistic day planner this week that only includes entries for the first couple weeks after its purchase.

BOZEMAN, MT—Assuring reporters they could maintain the man’s elevated levels of stress and get his mind racing uncontrollably, three cups of coffee stated Thursday morning they were confident they could take local resident Ryan Hubbard’s anxiety from here.

‘We’re Excited About This, But Silt Research Certainly Isn’t For Everyone,’ Say Geologists

BOULDER, CO—A team of geologists from the University of Colorado announced at a press conference Wednesday that they had made a significant discovery concerning the world’s silt deposits, but stated that they understand if you aren’t interested in that sort of thing.

‘I Can Mail It To You If You’re Still Using It,’ Says Mom

RACINE, WI—Concerned that you might be upset if she were to get rid of it without permission, your mother reportedly called Wednesday to ask if she could throw away your three-ring binder from middle school.

CHICAGO—Promising that every effort would be made to limit the impact on residents’ day-to-day lives, Chicago officials announced Wednesday that a fleet of plows was working around the clock to clear more than 18 inches of fresh bullet casings that had blanketed the metropolitan area overnight.

SEATTLE—Fearing the process was rapidly accelerating to the point at which it could no longer be contained, area man Brian Talbott reportedly looked on helplessly Tuesday as variants of his nickname evolved and multiplied at breakneck speed.

The Anti-Climax

Well, John Law had caught up with us at last. His gun drawn, the sheriff's deputy told us that a farmer had alerted him of our presence.

"Sir," the deputy asked Standish, "why are you carting a corpse across the county? It is in clear violation of health ordinances. And look how it's decomposing."

"Damn you, sir, I am not a corpse!" I screamed. "I am the celebrated T. Herman Zweibel, erstwhile plutocrat, and yonder lies my fortune! And there are the rogues who stole it! Seize them, before they escape!"

As I said this, Mr. Tin lifted a lever on his chest. Pipes emerged from the soles of his feet, ignited, and propelled the ro-bot up in the air and away from the clearing. The deputy fired his pistol several times at Mr. Tin, but the bullets only bounced off his impregnable torso as he disappeared into the inky night. I had no idea the metal bastard could fly!

This left only Black Scarlet, who had recovered from his initial shock. As the deputy fired his final shot, Black Scarlet tackled him and knocked away his pistol. The foul highwayman then pried me off my wheel-chair, tossed me over his steed Ganymede, and rode off into the darkness, dodging bullets along the way. Having lost his swag, the scoundrel would kidnap me in a last desperate stand!

This is where the plot thickens considerably. Suffice to say that it involves a lot of shooting, duelling and night-riding, as well as visits to road-side ale-houses filled with lusty wenches and repeated notes of ransom to The Onion offices, not to mention Black Scarlet saying such things as, "We are a lot alike, Zweibel, you and I," and me replying, "The only thing we have in common is our undying hatred for one another, Scarlet!" and so forth.

Nightly as we made our camp and sat around a roaring fire, Black Scarlet would prattle on about his once being some "rocking and rolling star" named "Freddie Mercury" or some such nonsense, and how he had staged his own demise to covertly wage a one-man war against me. But I do not care if he was once King of Belgium. To me, he will always be a dirty thief and a ruthless abductor!

We are now concealed in an abandoned granary some-where in the country-side, where we await a delivery of ransom money. I so hope that my ordeal shall soon end. Between you and me, this is all getting rather anti-climactic. Just when one thinks things have finally come to a head and are about to be resolved, some-thing else happens that throws it all off. Drat it all!